Scott Series: Submerged
by QuestRunner
Summary: Scott and Gordon find themselves temporarily trapped in Thunderbird Four battling fevers-and either Virgil or Alan are to blame! A bet between the brothers may make their situation all worth it in the end.


Author's Note: Hey fellow Tbirds! I make very small references to my previous works, Scott Series: Negative Split and Scott Series: Family Comfort, but you by no means have to read those before giving this story a try! FAB!

Scott leaned his burning forehead against Thunderbird Four's cool interior and sighed at the blessed relief.

"Hey, Gordon. You should try this," the pilot mumbled as he half-heartedly beckoned the aquanaut over. Gordon stumbled into view, pressing a damp cloth to his equally flushed face. He took a seat next to Scott on the floor of his beloved craft and sagged against the metal wall.

"Look at us," he said woozily. "Running fevers two hundred feet below the surface. I'm blaming Virg."

"Nah. Definitely Alan," Scott replied and the pair shared a feeble laugh. "We should make this official, then. Wanna bet on it?"

"Only if you're prepared to lose, Scotty."

"You'll be eating those words before you know it. Let's see…if I win, you have to help Grandma make Christmas dinner—more specifically, the meatloaf surprise." Scott had been roped into assisting Grandma Tracy with last year's holiday meal and didn't plan on reprising his role as chef-in-training under her watchful eye. He still had nightmares about last Christmas's oven fire and the batches of massacred gingerbread cookies that suffered as a result. He glanced at the aquanaut and gave him a light nudge. "What about you? If you put me back on laundry duty, I swear—" Gordon returned the nudge.

"If I win…well, I'm just gonna make it a surprise." Scott closed his eyes briefly as his temperature flared under his boiling skin and managed a small grunt.

"Hey, that's not how this works."

"Aw, c'mon! It's more fun this way if you don't know what's on the line. You like taking risks, after all." Scott eventually conceded, despite his better judgment.

"Okay, Gordon. We'll do it your way. But I'm adding laundry duty to the list if you lose."

"Deal." The brothers would've sealed the deal with a handshake, but even the slightest movement sent Scott's vision into a dizzying spiral. His head felt sluggish and heavy, courtesy of the fever coursing through his body.

Christmas. He still couldn't believe it was only two weeks away.

In Jeff Tracy's absence, Scott was doing his best to pick up the pieces, big and small—do what Dad used to do, command the way he used to command, take up the hobbies he used to enjoy—but this Christmas felt especially bleak, all ridiculous bets aside. It was a holiday that was already associated with loss ever since their mother's passing, and Scott didn't know how he could be there for his brothers without breaking. He had to be the strong one. Not sick and shivering in the belly of the submarine rescue vehicle.

Scott's wrist comm beeped to life, shaking him out of his reverie, and he answered the incoming call. Both Tracys instinctively averted their eyes from the hologram's sharp glare.

"Johnny. Perfect timing. How's the storm?"

"Faring better than you," John said as he scanned his tactile monitor. "The storm is strong, but it's moving quickly. Thirty minutes, tops, and you should be in the clear. Until then, I recommend you sit back, relax, and enjoy the view."

"Oh, no need to worry about us. It's all coral reefs, sting rays, and beautiful fish as far as the eye can see. Might even find some buried treasure," Gordon quipped.

The rocky trench housing the craft was anything but scenic. Void of life, its walls were as dismal and pockmarked as the mines Scott nearly lost his life in.** The savage current slammed against Thunderbird Four's reinforced hull while the metal groaned and shifted in response. John shook his head with a slight smile.

"Good to know you've still got a sense of humor. Listen, Virgil's got Thunderbird Two prepped and ready to launch. When the weather clears, he'll haul Thunderbird Four back to the island."

"FAB," Scott answered. Despite the sheen of sweat cloaking his face, he suppressed a shiver. This action didn't go unnoticed by the space monitor who only pursed his lips slightly in concern. "Hey, John. Better make it sooner rather than later." The eldest jerked his head in Gordon's direction. "Gordo's about to lose a bet, after all."

"You're not playing another round of Go Fish, are you?"** John asked. "You remember what happened last time, right? Besides, I'd put my house on Gordon. He's never lost a game."

"You of little faith," Scott muttered but he managed a small grin.

"Actually, we want to know who gave us this nasty bug. I say Virg," Gordon said, pausing to cough weakly into his sleeve.

"Alan. It's always him. The kid never gets sick, he's just a carrier," Scott added. "So, what about it, John? Who was it?" John laughed.

"Why don't I keep you in suspense until you get back home?" This was met with a grumble of disapproval. "Hey, Gordon, do you have an extra medkit in back?" The aquanaut ran a shaky hand across his face in thought. His wet hair matted against his forehead as another bead of sweat rolled down his neck and dissolved into the collar of his wetsuit. "I don't think so, Johnny. But I can double check. Give me a sec." The blonde staggered to his feet and pushed himself along the wall for support as he made his way to the storage compartments in the back. Once the younger Tracy was out of sight, John took the opportunity to converse with Scott in private.

"Scott—"

"It's not good, John," Scott said bluntly. "I haven't felt this sick since I was a kid."

"That bad, huh? Like that time mom took us to the zoo?"

"Worse."

"And Gordon?"

"Not much better. This really hit us hard. And with Christmas around the corner—"

"Scott." John's hands stilled as studied his sickly older brother curled up against the metal wall. "Here you are, sicker than a dog, and you're already worried about Christmas." Scott's eyes watered and he tried to blink the tears away.

"It's our first Christmas without him, John."

"I know," the redhead replied gently. Scott rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.

"How do you and Gordon do it? You make getting through the holidays look so easy." At this, Scott earned a chuckle from John.

"Who do you think we learned it from? After mom passed away, we looked up to you and Dad, especially during Christmas. You guys are the ones who made it look easy." As if an afterthought, he added, "You were a good teacher, Scotty." Weary footsteps signaled the arrival of their resident swimming aficionado and Gordon all but collapsed beside his older brother and rested his head on his shoulder.

"I didn't see a medkit and I almost lost my cookies twice on the way back. I may throw up on you." Scott's world gave another dizzy spin and he had to quell the sensation before responding.

"Don't you dare, Gordon. If I'm not allowed to pass out, you're not allowed to throw up." Gordon mumbled something incoherently into his shoulder. A series of calls pulled John from their comm link, leaving the feverish heroes in blessed darkness. A companionable silence passed, interrupted only by the creaking of the submarine's outer shell. The eldest was seconds away from drifting into a dreamless sleep when he heard Gordon finally say, "Hey Scott. Do you think…you know…he'll come home? For Christmas?" Scott leaned his cheek against the top of Gordon's head and winced as he felt the heat emitting from his younger brother.

"I sure hope so, Gordo." He wrapped a comforting arm around the slender torso. "We'll make sure everything's ready, just in case."

"I bought him a Christmas present," the blonde admitted. "Took me forever to think of it. Dad's so hard to buy for." This brought a smile to Scott's face.

"Really? I got him something, too. He'll probably like my present better than yours, though," he said jokingly.

"Wanna bet on it?" Gordon grinned. Scott tightened his embrace and let his thoughts drift to happy memories decorating the tree and watching sappy Christmas movies with his younger siblings. Maybe, just maybe, his brothers would be okay. Maybe Scott would find the Christmas spirit he'd seemed to lost along the way. And maybe their dad would come home just in time for Grandma Tracy's meatloaf surprise, a Christmas miracle Scott yearned for, if only to fill the empty ache in his chest.

By the time the storm ended and Thunderbird Two arrived on scene, both siblings were sound asleep in the submarine craft, the worst of the fever behind them. Virgil woke his charges the minute they returned to the underground bunker.

"Welcome back, stormchasers," Virgil said while he helped Gordon to his feet. "Next time maybe you should wait to cross-train until AFTER the storm passes."

"I wanted to give big bro a challenge," came Gordon's innocent reply. In truth, the storm had popped up out of nowhere until they were too deeply submerged and too sick to escape its wrath, but Scott decided to play along.

"The fever was just an added bonus. Next time I think Alan should fly Thunderbird Two through a tornado." Banter ensued as the Tracy boys made their way to the living room. Scott and Gordon flopped wearily onto the couch, making no move to change out of their uniforms.

"So, did you find that buried treasure?" John asked as his hologram graced the room. Scott and Gordon exchanged glances and gave each other the briefest of nods.

"You know, I think we did," Scott replied. He snuggled his face into one of the pillows and gave a deep sigh. "All right, let's hear it. Who was it? Alan or Virgil? C'mon, it's gotta be Alan!"

"I'm telling you, it's Virgil!"

"Sorry, Scotty. It was Virgil, after all." Scott groaned in defeat, much to the delight of his younger brother.

"Ha! Beat you again, bro!"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, what's it this time? Cleaning the pool? Making breakfast?" There was a dramatic pause to prolong the tension, and then—"Simple. You're going to become scuba diving certified." Scott raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Wait. I—what?"

"I'll help you. You'll learn all the tricks of the trade. There's some really good diving spots around the island, perfect for beginners, around forty to sixty feet deep. You'll be surprised what you can see underneath the water. Piloting a submarine just doesn't do it justice." Scott stretched along the couch and tucked his hands behind his head.

Their dad had never been one for swimming, despite undergoing water rescue training to prepare for the launch of IR. Scott had always looked up to Jeff Tracy, had wanted to be like him so much, that he never gave Gordon's beloved hobby a second thought. Until now. Maybe it was time—albeit slowly—that he forged his own way forward, instead of just following in his dad's footsteps.

"Let's do it, Gordon. I can't wait."


End file.
